Sorcera Descent
by Mockingtale
Summary: Tasked with the murder of the Queen, Len gets caught in a secret war between the sorcerers and the Church. In the medieval world of Cryptonia, where there is a secret world beneath the streets and magic wars with worship, this war dredges up his own past he prefers to keep silent. - pairings up for vote -
1. Prologue: Game Set

**Prologue**

_**Game Set**_

**A/N: Man, when I wrote this I was like 'NO OCs' because I thought Vocaloid had so many characters so why not use them all. But they were not kidding about the male/female ratio. I thought it would be fun to keep to the original idea of no OCs, but in order to avoid getting this story run over by females, I had to extend the search for males from VOCALOID to UTAUloids to Utaite. Who knew it would be so hard to find guys? **

**But I think the effort paid off, so have fun guessing who's who!**

**Rated T for violence, swearing and mild sexual implications.**

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><p><strong>~0~0~0~0~0*~*0~0~0~0*~*0~0~0~0~0~<strong>

_**part I : To Black **_

In a large, cavernous chamber, bricked with dark stones of a multitude of mysterious colours, only a handful of small candles shone. The rest was devoured in inky shadow, black and grey melting into purple and a touch of orange. Where the candles burned in their iron brackets, their light that touched the stones turned iridescent— a strange glimmer.

"They're getting stronger."

Figures sat around a large round table; naught but their silhouettes showed, silky penumbras blending with the shimmering violets and cobalts of the chamber. There was a smell of dampness and mustiness, a hint that they were underground. Somewhere in a corner, water dripped a steady tempo that echoed around the walls.

"They will not overpower us." A woman replied calmly. Her voice had a very womanly, oceanic timbre, as fine as matured wine and it echoed magisterially around the dark chamber.

Immediately, as if bursting to reveal it, a young, shrill voice cut in. "Such confidence! But if the Church receives the endorsement of Cryptonia's royalty, we are all _doomed!_" The statement was punctuated with two palms hitting the table surface heavily, the small speaker's zeal palpable in the thick air. A blood-red corkscrew curl flashed in the glow of candlelight before vanishing back into umbra. Her impatience and anxiety were tangible, but another speaker spoke.

"Calm down, _child_," a male voice hissed in, as lacerating as venom. The air mutated and contused as magic wove in, both hostile and angry, like violent fireworks perceived behind tightly shut eyes, both dived towards each other into a scalding strife—

"Enough, _children_."

The speaker who opened spoke, his voice deep and mesmeric, as luxurious as black velvet and as smooth as mirror and onyx. His voice carried authority and magnetism, and immediately, all movement stilled. The hot magic dissipated, reverting back to its original, dark cool wetness. All the figures around the table were on edge, ready to listen to him.

"The King knows it is important to remain neutral in this invisible war, but it is the King's utmost duty to support his people, and his people—" the figure lounged against his seat lazily, his silhouette portraying power and ease. "— support the Church."

With those words, the small speaker with the shrill voice snarled in displeasure, and the mood of the room rose accordingly in response to the dark speaker's words. Anger and vexation coloured the atmosphere as panic touched it.

A soft voice spoke out against the discontent, as gentle and feminine as fresh lilies in water. "There is nothing we can do to change that. If the people support the Church, than there is no more room for us in Cryptonia." She tilted her exceedingly fair head, and a flash of white hair caught the candlelight before disappearing back delicately into shadow.

"The sorcerers must move."

"_Move?!_" The small, irascible speaker exclaimed shrilly. "Do not be ridiculous, we have been here longer than the Church. This is _our _place!"

"Quiet, and show your older more respect," the dark speaker spoke smoothly, his voice richer than blackcurrant. Threat and warning danced like poison at the edges of his tone, and the small speaker retreated back immediately, soundly rebuked.

"She is right," a new, silvery voice spoke. This one sounded as light as the wind and as melodious as a silver bell. "We sorcerers have been here for centuries, even before the dawn of Cryptonia, and have we not supported its rise even through the darkest times? We will stay."

Her conclusion, though airily stated, was firm with finality. It resounded throughout the chamber and sparked a new, zealous flame. All the figures straightened, and the collective emotion shifted to one of iron-clad consensus.

They would stay.

"Very well," the dark speaker drawled, although amusement sifted in between like sand. "We will not retreat from the advances of the Church. But even if it comes to war…?"

"Then war."

The woman with the oceanic timbre spoke, but this time in a low whisper. It transitioned however, to a barely suppressed black fury. "We are being burned like common firewood by the Church, courtesy of the Duchess Saint. If you say we are doomed if royalty supports the Church, than we are doomed already if King Leon has chosen to stand idly by."

"Leverage then," the voice as light as air responded crisply. Grimness hung off her tone like stalactites and she shifted forwards to lay two fair hands on the table. "To keep the King… _ideally _neutral."

The male voice who quarrelled earlier spoke, his voice as dry and sharp as searing acid. "The Green Queen." All heads turned to him, piqued with slight interest. "Ever since the lady Queen Sonika has passed, they have taken to calling the Princess the Green Queen. Princess Miku can be our leverage—"

"Kidnap?" The second speaker interrupted, echoing the young man's implication. The ocean breeze was in her lush timbre. "There will be outrage in the streets."

"Which will be exactly why there will be no outrage," the male replied back tartly, severely displeased at being interrupted. Malice poured like shards of knives and venom from his words. "The royalty will keep it silent—"

"_Fool_," the red-haired small speaker cut in brashly, her temper ignited. "They will tell the Church if the Green Queen is missing. The Lord Pope will unleash his lady Duchess _Saint_," she spat the name out like sewage filth, "and they will conduct more burnings than ever!"

All chance of escalation was cut short when a new, stern woman's voice interrupted. "Demons take the both of you." Briskness and terseness coloured her silhouette where she sat, and her back was ramrod straight. "We cannot afford to fall apart with our enemy at the door."

The two silhouettes paused and looked at her, their youth shown in the lack of the same grace displayed by their more experienced elders. At their hesitation, magic flared from several of the sitting silhouettes— a warning, or a chide. In the millennia old practice of sorcery, age and power has always been the utmost marker of wisdom.

And all children must respect their elders.

The two impetuous speakers finally drew back, settling against the backs of their chairs. The woman's head shifted and she turned to face the dark speaker.

"I think it is clear what we need to do now."

**~*-0-*~**

_**part II : To White **_

A man sat on a white throne gilded with elaborate gold. Light poured out from him, each ray harsh and rumoured to be gentler than a mother's chaste kiss to the believer— or more scorching than the violent sun to the dissenter. This man sat beneath the feet of God.

As he stood up, he walked slowly towards the full wall glass window behind his bright throne. The room he was in was voluminous, the ceiling rising high into the depths of shadow, and adorned with the murals of masters. As high as the ceiling was, the size of the room was huge as well, and the glass spanned the entire length of it. Everything was painted in white and cream, embellished with reliefs that wove intricately on the walls. It was airy, but splendidly grandiose.

Outside, the sun was sinking, throwing lilac and vermillion across the greying skies like a final reach and spreading clouds across like thin webs. He stood, alone, with the dying rays on his face and his hands behind his back. Behind him, his white robes trailed and caught the light.

"It's a disaster, unmitigated disaster!"

"No, wrong, wrong, wrong! It is not! Win, we will definitely win!

Those two had been bickering ever since the start.

"But come out on top? Ridiculous! Their darkness has been ingrained like a scar ever since the start!"

The two twin sisters, each young in their late teens with dark yellow hair. They were slender and svelte, like gymnasts. Arguing back and forth, their voices were quick and high, like violin screeches, but they had elvish, pretty, child-like faces. One had short, spiky hair, kept in place with a magenta hairband. Likewise, her twin wore a hairband, her long hair curling around her in a long ponytail and reaching her thighs where the ends were dulled with a pale pink. The short-haired one wore a white waistcoat while her longer-haired sister wore black.

The younger one with the short hair had a curious tendency to repeat words three times. The older, one may say, was pessimistic about situations.

"That is why we must cleanse them with fire, burn deep, deep, deep!"

"Power, more power! We must get King Leon on our side, but how?"

"Silence," the man's voice was quiet, but it carried far like a justice's hammer. He continued to watch the scenery unfold outside, while the two twin sisters flinched and drew back in fear, silence catching them as they watched him warily

Before plunging into their argument again, unfettered.

"We have the support of the people! All that is left is to flush them out, flush out the devil practitioners! Flush, flush, flush!"

"No, no, it's more complicated than that! They have been here too long. Impossible, impossible!"

At the window, the man simply waved, and like well-trained dogs, or perhaps compelled by some strange power, the two moved with perfect synchronicity, and although they still bickered, their heads turned at the same angle, the same time, took the same step at the same tempo, and left the large room, their voices dissolving away.

From the corner, through a largely hidden doorway, a man walked in, cloaked in bright pink and silver, colourful yellow edging his coat and scarf. His flaxen hair was pale, but his face was youthful and innocent in a pure, untouched way. He stood before the man at the window and kneeled, aware of the man's divinity and his intense, purifying light pouring into every pore of his own being, cleansing and blessing. Blinding.

"My Lord Pope," he said, his voice soft and almost emasculate. "Do you have need of my services?"

The man clothed in dazzling bright white spoke. "I understand your two… _brothers _are still in contact with you, even though they have deigned to refuse your offer of redemption. I believe they have sided with the sorcerers."

The young man— boy, really, paused. "Yes," he replied hesitantly after a moment. It was a dangerous question that required a cautious answer, but for some reason, the Lord Pope's voice was devoid of that usual, ringing judgement. Instead, it was muted and soft, ungentle but merciful.

The boy would keep honest. "We continue to speak because the Lord Pope has said that familial traditions are to be treasured above the rarest rubies, although one of my brothers is still…" the boy trailed off, not knowing how to continue. The proper words missed his tongue and his eyes dared not peer to closely into that blinding light.

The man however, dismissed the topic quickly. Outside, the sun had drowned deep within the blue pits of the night, although a few of its rays still remained, beaming out as its light was slowly snuffed out. The stars took centre stage, watched by and outshined by the white, luminescent moon. "And where is my lady Duchess Saint?"

Ah, the Church's yellow, blazing sun. If the Lord Pope was the holy Judge who sat at God's feet and wielded His gavel and block then the Duchess Saint was the Lord Pope's Sword and Shield.

"At the Monarch Palace, my lord," the boy said respectfully. Monarch Palace was the house of the King, and its many windows crafted out of fine crystal threw a spectrum of colours when the light shone through. "She seeks to persuade the King to gift us his Seal."

At that, something akin to dry amusement appeared in the man's tone. "I expect she's on the verge of nothing short of violence."

At that, the boy said nothing, unsure how to respond. The Duchess Saint's temper was legendary.

A petite figure appeared behind the boy, her gown rustling as she moved. Like a delicate dancer through a field of grass, her features were as delicate as her soft, timid, piano-key voice. "My Lord Pope," she curtsied before kneeling next to the boy. She looked to be about the same age as him, but her thick hair was a very pale, almost platinum, diluted with watercolours of the various stages of the sky: bright blue, indigo, vibrant orange, pale green and egg yolk yellow. Two dainty earrings dangled next to her porcelain face, which was inset with eyes of equal, dark yellow.

"My Lord Pope, your loyal servant is here." Her dress was all dark, bows and lace, and a small black cap adorned with a red bow sat on her little head.

"Ah, my sweet girl." The man still look past the window, acknowledging his subjects only through his voice. He never moved once, with his hand still behind his back. Now that night had settled, the giant throne room turned into chamber of shadow and moonlight patches. The man's loyal servants were still colourful and bright, even without the light to aid in their glow. With the advent of nightfall, the torches should have been set alight and put to burning merrily in their brackets, but permission had not been given to the servants to enter.

The blackness of the night made the glass a mirror, and the Lord Pope's face was finally reflected back to his followers.

"Tell me, the both of you. What limits would hold you back from accomplishing our Great Mission?"

"None, my lord." The both of them answered together, without any hesitation.

"We would do anything for you. Your believers will do whatever it takes."

**~*-0-*~**

_**part III : To Knight **_

A couple walked alone in the night, accompanied only by the easy bustle of the night-time vendors. The moon was a bright, silver coin in the sky, a picturesque circle of white light against a clear, blue ink sky, rivalled only by the earthbound flames dancing in their melded cages of iron and glass.

Lampposts lined the broad, cobblestone street, occupied by late-night stragglers and cart pushers. It reflected a world with two faces: in daytime, a bustling, merry street bursting with a myriad of wondrous colours, sounds and smells; but come nighttime, blackness and a hushed silence stole through every crevice and bled every secret that night had to bear.

The gentleman, smiled and twirled his darling lady around, watching her ebony locks splay like autumns leaves in the chilly air. She laughed, clearly drunk, and latched onto his chest while her pretty, dark-skinned face titled upwards, her eyes dreamy.

"Tell me you love me," she demanded, her voice slightly slurred and heady. She was a very pretty, common thing, with dark hair like a rippling sheet of silk and skin like mocha chocolate. What stood out were her lovely, large pair of grey eyes that were as soft as a fog. Her companion smiled down at her and brought his thumb and index finger to her chin.

"I love you," he said easily, his voice lower than his age suggested, and smoother than a storm. He was a tall, lean man, with slender but sculpted muscles and a built like a predatory panther, but his hair was the color of sunbeams and kept at his nape in a short ponytail. The man had bright eyes of watery blue, each like a shimmering pale marble. He tucked a loose ebony lock behind the lady's ear.

The lady smiled.

Around them, night dwindled past midnight, and into the lonely, dark hours of the morning.

"Lola," she said softly. The young man looked into her eyes again. No, he decided, they were not as soft as a grey fog, they shone like the stars. "My name is Lola."

"Lola," he nodded, his eyes gentle and kind. She stumbled and clutched onto him for support, the strength seeping out of her limbs and drained out. Cold bled in, coldness and weariness that made her sigh deeply. It dug into her bones like a cancer, and wove freezing tendrils around her heart— but with it came of sort of comfort borne only out of resignation. She smiled serenely, her eyes glazed and staring dreamily at the stars.

The poison was taking effect. She was dying.

The young man stopped and slowly lowered her head gently to the floor. Her ebony locks spilled like black water to the cobblestone floor, and her dress tangled around her legs like a gossamer web. A lovely sight marred by the sickness that stole over her dark skin and grey eyes.

But she still smiled.

"Tell me your name," her voice was barely a whisper, weak, a thin cobweb strand about to break. The young man kneeled down and gently moved her hair away from her face. She looked from the sky to him, and a single tear streaked down her face.

"I want to know the name of the man that killed me."

The young man's face was muted and solemn, but he held her hands and said nothing. Lola stared at him for a moment, the chill reaching her lips and turning them white and feeble. Her grey eyes finally shifted upwards to the inky sky, where her gaze melted with the moon.

"No one has ever told me they loved me before," she whispered, so _so _tired. "Thank you."

Her eyes finally closed, just as a chilly breeze blew past. It ruffled the young man's sunbeam hair as he rose slowly, slightly apologetic. In the morning, the street vendors will find the lovely scene of a sad, sad girl dead on the street, her ebony hair like ripples of water on the dirty cobblestones. They will bring her body to the gravediggers, not to the police, because she will be recognised as Lola, a common whore who rumours say was bearing the bastard child of a rich merchant's married son, and so she means nothing.

Len walked down the dark street, each booted foot as silent as a shadow, but his bright hair caught the moon's borrowed light and shone like molten gold. He shrugged his hood on and never looked back.

All in a day's work.

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><p><strong>AN: I really hoped you enjoyed it. I'm really new to the fandom and this is my first Vocaloid story. I haven't decided the pairings so I'm putting it up to a vote! Please review! It really makes my day :)**

**Len X Miku**

**Len X Rin**

**Miku X Kaito**


	2. A Play for Knight Forward

**A/N:** Hi once again! Thanks to** iloveyugiohGX93, Kaleidoscopic Dragon, Akane L.M.S, japaneserockergirl, Ushinatta Neko, BlackStar01451, Awesome D.T** and the mysterious **guest** for reviewing!

Special kudos to **whimsyappletea** for her intro into this fandom, and for awesomely taking the time to beta the whole thing.

**Oh wow. This was actually a pain to get out, really. Really really really. Anyway, I never expected Sorcera Descent to get the response it did. I really did not. So, thank you so much for all your reviews and support! I really find the critiques super helpful, and I'm trying to find a balance in my writing. So thank you once again!**

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><p><strong>NOTE: I will not do this again. But this story is rated T for swearing, mature themes and sexual implicationsituations. **

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><p><strong><span>Chapter - 1<span>**

_**A Play for Knight Forward**_

_"How dreadful...to be caught up in a game and have no idea of the rules."_

_― Caroline Stevermer_

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><p>The girl giggled as the young man wrapped the chiffon scarf around her, the material soft and thin, which was what made it so exceptionally luxurious in the first place. The silky film was translucent between her dainty fingers and made the world a dreamy matte coral as she held it up and peered at his face through it.<p>

"Oh," she sighed, euphoric. "Kiri, it's perfect. It's so _soft_." The male smiled, a quick ease along his lips that impressed roguishness and capability. He was young, on the cusp of matured adulthood, but his built was sinewy and striking— rippling, slender muscles like a panther always on the edge of lunging. She took his face in her small, white hands, feeling chiseled cheekbones and wisps of his sunbeam hair tangled in between her fingers. Smiling brightly, she said, "Oh, thank you."

She kissed him on the lips, a very girlish flutter characterised by her delicate, plush mouth pressing chastely on his. The young man had other ideas though, and he quirked his own mouth and pressed harder, slanting her face as he stole a deeper kiss. Suddenly flustered, the girl shifted in surprise, and her cheeks turned darker than the light pink of her chiffon scarf. Finally being released, she pulled back, and the young man smiled when he saw that her face was now a deep shade of plum.

The girl looked down shyly, long lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. "I- I need to go now Kiri," she peered up hopefully at his face, her eyes large and doll-like. "Will I see you again?"

"Of course, love," the young man touched her chin, and the girl hesitantly turned away to walk down the street, skirts swishing around her feet and shiny hair over her shoulder. The young man watched her disappear. He was an odd figure, a striking silhouette against the backdrop of the market street. Yet at the same time, he blended easily, blurring into a passer-by's subconscious memory.

Hmm.

_"Oh Kiri, it's so soooft. Kiss me, Kiri!"_

The young man's lips turned down in half-amused annoyance. "Oh, shut up, won't you?"

Next to him, a man stepped out from the shadows. What immediately caught the eye were his eyes; the deep wells of endless navy. The man was not much older than himself, even though he was clad in a long, rich coat, projecting wealth and affluence. It was off-white, edged in blue, and from the way it gleamed under the touch of sun, he knew it was rayon.

"_But Kiiiriii—_"

"Very funny," Len shot him a dry look, before his glimmering, pale blue eyes picked over the elaborateness of the man's wear. "Kaito," he started conversationally. "Is the princess going to the ball?"

In return, the man with deep, cobalt hair snorted and looked away. The sun gilded his hair and coat, dark sapphires shaded with mild white and lighter tones of blue. They put yellow light in his eyes, making them glitter. Like this, Len could see how many found him irresistible. There, under the sun with nonchalance in the way he stood and a brimming vault of self-esteem and charisma; a combination of charm, his solid towering build, and the approachable handsomeness of his face had tempted countless females― and dare he say, males?

"Actually Len, the princess is heading back _from_ the ball," Kaito shot at him humorously, deep gaze looking at him through the shade of his blue hair. Len had known Kaito for a very long time; long enough, perhaps, to be called 'friends'. He knew that as dashing as Kaito was now, the man could be anything he wanted, and anything anyone needed him to be. If honey drew in flies, then Kaito's silvered tongue and quick mind drew in victims.

Preferably females. Preferably rich.

Even now, striding alongside him, Len melted into the background like a shadow― a common man, but Kaito attracted eyes like the glint of gems.

"Very pretty," the young man spoke dryly, his voice naturally low and muted. His sunbright hair however, caught the light and blazed like gold fields, and he must have realized this for he pulled his hood over his head, covering all hints to his coloring.

Around them, people bustled and pushed past them. It was two hours to morn and the women and servant staff now swarmed the streets, haggling with vendors for foods. Many waved vivid produce, bartering, some even yelling. This was the Capital's farmers' market, and the scent of rosemary and thyme lingered in the air along with bursts of citrus. People shoved each other, sweat sticking their cotton wear to skin. Looking around, one needed only to spot bright emblems of House Tohoku or Clan Mew to know that their kitchen staff frequented the vendors here. It was a sea of people and faces in their own chaotic motion, but it parted to let Kaito through, and with him, Len.

_Maybe I should start wearing fancy coats during the pre-morning peak hours_, Len thought wryly. Hah, if only. Len knew that he could never capture the bold, swashbuckling image Kaito could project. He was the panther slinking off in moonlight and the inkwells of shadow. This man stood proudly in the sun. _Aristocracy_, it could have been whispered (have been whispered before), but it was his honey tongue that fully served Kaito. That, and the web of lies and half-truths he spun. While Kaito enjoyed charading as wealth, the truth was that he was as equally skilled in switching and spinning up masks that fitted him perfectly.

"Pretty? Who, me? Yes, I believe I'm fabulous. Enough of that, though." The blue-haired man slung an arm around Len's shoulders, much to his irritation. The hooded man muffled it down though, his face blank and smooth. He hated to give Kaito that satisfaction, although a thin smirk had already lifted the side of his mouth.

"So tell me, Len. That Lola girl. How was she like?"

Len did not answer immediately, but when he did, his answer was bland. "She was very pretty. Remove the arm, Kaito, or I'll snap it at the joint."

Lola, the night-whore found on the cobblestone streets with her eyelids veined and cold, both freezing fingers on her womb. The remembrance of imagery nearly brought his heart to a frigid stutter. A feeling he had long grown used to, but could never be numb to. Still, powerful legs eased along the street, silently and carefully― and they did not falter. Len's heart had already been soaked black a long, long time ago.

"Really? They say she was with child." Len did not stop walking, his face and form a perfect veneer of impregnable stoicism, like shadow and stone. But he didn't answer either.

An easy grin on his handsome face, Kaito was about to give a witty remark when the sounds of screaming could be heard. Both men paused, frowned and immediately pushed forward.

Around the entrance to a shophouse, the morning crowds had broken against the opening to form a crescent. People were pushing slightly, whispering and chattering amongst themselves while the screaming of a girl resounded along the street.

As Len and Kaito neared, they saw that the first few rows of people were hushed, almost still. There, on the dirty gravel, a girl thrashed against the iron cage of a guard's arms, her face tear-streaked and filthy. The tears in her dress spoke briefly of how she had been thrown to the ground and cruelly manhandled. Looking around at the crowd, Len could see the anxiety put in their eyes, the worry, and he knew why.

The sigils of the Holy Church. It was embroidered on the guards' finery, and immediately the scene spoke of the girl's doom.

The girl twisted out of the guard's grasp and lurched towards the crowd, crying and pleading in hysteria. But the crowd only backed away in fright and continued watching. She fell to the ground, nails scrabbling against the gravel as the guards dragged her up again and slapped her right across the face.

She gasped and gave a cry, before throwing herself towards the crowd again and begged her innocence. "Please," she shrieked, choking on her violent sobs. "Please!"

"Please, I'm innocent," she pleaded brokenly, reaching out towards some of them searchingly. "I'm _innocent!_"

But they only watched.

Kaito stirred and uncrossed his arms. Already, the fine coat was discarded and now the dark sapphire-haired man was clad in a simple brown jacket, looking for all the world a peculiarly handsome commoner. Switch and spin.

With a cool face, he turned to a nearby spectator. "What happened?"

"Accused of witchcraft," the man replied anxiously, swallowing. His fear lay not in the guards but in the girl herself. Everyone watched her warily. "Remember years ago, when that woman was accused of using magic to seduce the Duke of Night?"

Ah, the Megurine Witch. Kaito nodded, recalling. He was not present, but as the story goes, the woman was put to the stake, her pink hair chopped off by the Duke of Night himself as the city folk gathered. As the flames roared, it seemed she had summoned a powerful spell and vanished in a shower of raven feathers.

"Well," the man continued. "The Church announced this morn that they would step up their searches since then. This one was accused of casting a spell on her neighbour's baby."

Kaito said nothing at first, letting the information sink in. He watched as a guard yank the girl up by her hair, ignoring her flailing and cries. Her eyes shone with terror, and she was screaming herself hoarse. _A pity,_ he mused inwardly, _that she is still ignorant of the fact that hope has long fled her._ "I see," he said after a while, his expression fathomless.

"It'll be the stake for her tonight," Len said quietly, suddenly stepping out of the crowd and sidling up to Kaito's side. Kaito did not even notice his disappearance, and he had no doubt about the fact that he only noticed Len's approach because Len wanted him to. He did not turn to face the hooded man, but his face showed interest. Len continued. "They've already set a timing, and the cross is being put up in the Square as we speak."

Kaito's dark ocean eyes widened in surprise, and he finally turned to look into Len's shadowed face to cement certainty. "So soon? No trial?"

"No trial," the black-hooded man replied firmly. Around them, the crowd had begun to part and make way for the guards as they dragged away the screeching girl. One man gasped and pulled away in fright when the girl strained towards him in plea. "They're scared that she'll have time to cast a spell to escape in a flutter of black feathers, like the other one."

Kaito scoffed, but his eyes were still riveted to the wretched scene in a mixture of horror and fascination. "Well," he said slowly. "Won't the Square be crowded tonight?"

**~*0*~**

Buildings on Kojiki Roji were decrepit, with stubs of brick and wood that sat on a maze of small alleyways and jagged turns that bewildered the casual wanderer. Filth clogged every sewer grate and thickened every wall, and past each corner, chance and luck dictated if your throat would be met with a knife, forced to barter for your life in exchange for coin.

It was home to Len, however, a place to sleep and to rest. The rent was cheap, and secrets were guaranteed by unspoken agreements to be left untouched. He lived in an old, two-storey shophouse, in a dingy room lent for a few coins per week by the landlady, Miriam, and her small son, Piko. As per unsaid rule of residency amongst underworld residents, landlady and tenant asked no questions, and expected no answers. For Len, Miriam would provide meals and a room unless otherwise, and for Miriam, if any unsavoury, unwanted guests bothered mother and child, he or she would be dealt with― quickly and quietly.

Miriam was a quiet though motherly person. Len did not inquire as to her past because he saw no reason to, especially when she did not inquire into his. They rarely interacted, but there was a shared respect, even affection for each other, from a mutual need to keep away from their hidden history. Her son Piko, however, was another thing entirely. He was fair-haired like his mother but loud, easily excitable and always curious. He always pestered Len to play with him, something that was occasionally humoured, but while Piko seemed to have taken a liking to Len, Len preferred to quietly keep away.

Climbing the moulding stairs, each step creaked horrendously, threatening to give way to years of rot. For both occupants landlady and tenant, this was preferable, serving as a rather poor though agreeable alarm system. Of course Len could creep and ease up into the dark, unlit hallway as soundless as a breeze, but it was a way of signaling to Miriam that he was back.

It was now evening, barrelling straight into twilight, and tiny shots of light splayed over the interiors, moving silently as shadows glided. Through the tiny, four-squared window, the white moon rose sinisterly above the shaded buildings outside. Something above on the landing shifted, a flicker in the flow of the air, and immediately, his instincts shot up as did his guard.

"... Piko?"

The little boy was bleary-eyed, one small, curled fist rubbing at his turquoise eyes. He was clad in a pair of white pajamas, a raggedy teddy bear dragged behind by one hand. Len quickly ascended the last few steps and picked up the little boy, all internal alarm bells dimming.

"Piko, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with your mother?" He murmured gently to the boy, who seemed to have just woken up from a nap. The little boy yawned in return and snuggled closer to Len, sleep-tears hanging from his eyelashes and gumming at the corners of his eyes. He blinked slowly, eyelashes fluttering, the tattered teddy bear he clutched to his little form tickled Len's chin inadvertently.

"I was waiting for onii-san," he mumbled sleepily, before resting his head on Len's black-clad shoulder and drifting off to slumber again.

Len sighed and gently tugged away the annoying toy, tucking the boy's head under his chin as he entered the kitchen where he knew Miriam was.

The kitchen consisted of a stove and two cupboards, and to name it a room would be an overstatement. It was merely a crevice in the wall, brightened by an oil lamp placed on the stove. The shophouse he lived in was cramped and terribly unlit, but at least clean and livable. Miriam stood in the narrow space, pale hair in a tight braid over her shoulder and a large shawl over her dress. She glanced up, eyes immediately jumping to her son's face and ascertaining his state. Miriam nodded minutely in thanks and jerked her head at the pot she was currently stirring in, silently signaling that dinner would be ready soon.

Len nodded and turned, entering the bedroom where mother and son slept before placing Piko on the bedcovers. The little boy's head lolled to the side and Len silently tucked his favourite teddy bear into his small arms. Taking one last look, he quickly left to retreat to his own room.

"Len."

A quiet but stern voice halted him in his tracks. He turned to face Miriam, standing in the too-narrow hallway, its peeling wallpaper forming a bizarre frame of dried glue and petals. He guessed that she would have been extremely pretty once, but motherhood and time had put wrinkles on her forehead and a sort of weariness to her eyes. Still, one needed only look at her unflinching posture to recognize her uprightness and assertiveness. It was something he liked about Miriam. She was a good person.

He faced her, emotionless, and Miriam faced him with her own brand of non-emotion. In another life, Len fancied, she could have been his older sister, or even his mother.

"Something wrong, Miriam?"

She wasted no time in putting things bluntly. "Men are looking for you."

At that, Len fell silent, his face unperturbed in his stillness. "I see," he said after a while, although his air contradicted the calmness in his tone. Looking into the face of the woman he had lived with for three years, he saw the years behind her, her love for her son.

And a deep sense of mistrust. He could not deny that his heart sank a little.

"Would you like me to leave, Miriam?"

It was a courteous question. Three years with Len had given her a brief notion as to his occupation; one without its lack of enemies. If he continued to stay, she and her son could be victims of a grudge they did not even know existed. Before she even opened her mouth, Len already knew her answer, but his smile was oddly soft and kind.

Her answer was brief and to the point as she turned away.

"Yes."

_Heartless_, Len chuckled inwardly, but he beared no ill will. He bowed to her retreating figure and proceeded to his room.

_Men are looking for you._

Well, shit. He wondered if they would chase him forever. Kaito had once casually called him a prisoner and pathetic. A predator who had become prey. He ignored the sinking feeling in his heart at the thought of running again as he pushed open his door.

Instantly, he stopped, and his eyes narrowed. There, bathed in moonlight, no doubt carefully arranged, lay a woman in his bed. Naked and covered by a thin sheet.

The woman shifted languidly, her eyes hooded and lips curved into a wickedly seductive smile. Yellow hair slid down her shoulders like water, tendrils catching in her eyelashes as they shaded her pretty, sharp face. Everything about her features was razor-bladed, from the glint in her eyes to the edge of her smile. She moved and the sheet slid dangerously down her well-formed chest.

Sighing, he closed the door and entered his room, pale shimmering eyes roaming appreciatively over the curves and dips of her body, particularly lingering over her cleavage and the softness of her breasts. Now, in the night, he had turned predatory, the hidden power corded in his muscles; always on the verge of lunging, watching, analyzing. He surveyed her, and his gaze settled on her neck. Idly, he remembered his teeth sinking into the white skin of her throat, his hands squeezing those delightful breasts while she moaned needily.

Now, he wondered what sounds she would make if he plunged cold steel in the area between her eyes.

Len casually draped himself over a chair and faced her, his smile knife-edged and dangerously friendly, chair back between his black-clad legs. The woman moved, her grin coy and poisonous as the sheet now hitched higher and higher up her legs, moving well towards her shapely thighs. In response, he settled one long, calloused finger on her ankle and stroked it.

"Hello, Lily," he said cheerily, as if he were a customer greeting a market vendor. The finger slid languorously up her shin, teasingly edging towards the sensitive underside of her knee.

"Len," she whispered. Literally soaking in the moon's glow, the silvershine streamed through the small window, making her skin glow and her dull yellow hair shine. However, as it glided across her face, it caught in her eyes and made them glint. Cunning. Insatiable. Those were the first words that came to mind when something not unlike mania swirled within her blue depths. Mildly unhinged, Len had once put it. Maybe it was that crazed energy that made fucking her the first time extremely pleasurable.

She was fun.

Now that finger found itself stroking the tender underside of her knee leisurely, as Len tilted his head to the side. His eyes glittered like the sun at the bottom of a clear pool, but they were sharp and grappled onto her gaze like hooks in flesh.

"How can I help you?"

Her grin stretched, as if to say, _you can move your finger up higher and into me_. Len's own smile widened, highly amused. He decided to decline, although he did compromise by feathering his hand up her thigh, smoothing over her skin and leaving goosebumps in the wake of his sly fingers. Her breath hitched, and the glint in her eyes cut into him hotly.

"I want you," she breathed, finally sitting up. Her white teeth flashed in the moonlight as her grin widened hungrily. "To kill someone for me."

The questing hand vanished immediately from her thigh and settled nonchalantly on top of the chair's wooden back. He looked at her, face unconcerned, but the way his pale, sharp eyes flickered over her told Lily that he was analyzing her― a predator watching a foolish prey. She bared her teeth in both lust-intoxicated excitement and the challenge he presented her.

"Curious. Who?"

Lily did not hesitate as she rose up, her face on the same level as his. The sheet fell away from her chest, unembarrassed, but Len's eyes were still cool on her face. She smiled almost animalistically; teeth sharp, eager, expecting.

"The Green Queen."

At that, there was a pause to his movements. Soon however, slowly, lazily, he eased powerful muscles over her. First, his legs crowned hers, black cloth smooth over her naked skin as he comfortably shifted from the chair to on top of her. With her literally between his knees, Lily dropped back against the pillow, her long yellow hair splaying out as she giggled playfully, drunk on a high.

As for Len, the moonlight gilded his cheekbones and turned his sunbright hair ashen, making his pale blue eyes shimmer all the more mysteriously. His lean muscles rolled as he slowly lowered himself over Lily's prone form, unbridled power in his strong arms as they caged her soft body. His chapped lips hovered less than an inch over hers, and pale blue eyes seared into her own. A tolerant, barely perceptible smile still played around his mouth, but it was false.

"Hmm." One calloused finger caressed her collarbone, and Lily closed her eyes, tilting her head back. Len smiled, still humouring her. "And what's in it for me?"

With her eyes still closed, a serene smile spread like a disease across her face. "A new identity and a safe passage to Internatico," she almost sighed.

Lower―rough fingers now teased the skin between her breasts. "And why would I want that?"

"So you'll never have to run away from _them_ again."

Instantaneously, those sly hands ripped away from her body and flew around her throat. Coolly, his twin thumbs pressed against her larynx. Lily's eyes flew open and stared into a face that showed no exertion, only a blank slate of mercurial iciness. Len's thumbs threatened to plunge into her throat like chopsticks stabbing velum, and inwardly, she marveled at the strength he appeared to possess for him perform that so easily.

A cackle burst from her squeezed throat, and her fingers instinctively jumped to his hands to tug at his fingers. They were like steel, and her attempts had no effect. Meanwhile, his thumbs pressed lower… harder. She gargled and flailed her arms at him, but in her pretty eyes, Len could see the mania, the adrenaline high she was getting from this.

"Say, Lily," Len said casually over her cut-off gasps and retches. Her nails dug into the flesh of his hand, but he felt no pain. Idly, he knew that he needed only to increase the pressure by a smidge, and fun Lily's throat would cave in like cake.

"How did you know about my little situation?"

"I- I-" Saliva leaked from her mouth as she choked for air, but her mad, high-induced smile was still on her lips. He watched with disgust as the liquid tracked down her cheek and onto his bedsheets.

Suddenly, something hummed, whirring closer to his ear. He immediately dodged the white, glowing hand. In barely a second, he had ripped a steel blade from his belt and it was now only a breeze's pressure away from slicing into her throat.

Now sitting upright, Len's outstretched arm held a serrated knife to replace where his thumbs had been. She was still trapped between the iron weight of his black-clad thighs, but while one hand was still on his fingers around her neck, her left hand was outstretched, upright and loose. It was whining with high-pitched frequency and glowed a harsh white, now dimming as the magic cooled.

"I've never killed a Flowers witch before." Len said, almost amused, his naturally low voice smooth and wry. He did not even look perturbed.

Gulping for air, Lily's body rushed to take in the cool air of the night while she laughed, her body arching as she gasped and cackled at the same time. Her yellow hair shook with the force and was becoming rumpled and messy. Next to her, the sheet that once covered her body lay on the bed, now meaningless.

"Oh,_ Len_," she wheezed. Her tossing had caused the blade to slice the outer epidermis of her neck, causing blood to trickle between her breasts, yet she did not seem to care.

"Len, Len, _Len_," she purred. Her eyes were hooded, eyelids half drawn over her blue eyes. Still, she could never completely hide the traces of mania in them.

"Let skeletons sleep longer in their closets, why won't you?"

At that, the knife dug deeper into her throat, and the blood rivulets turned into a crimson streamlet that ran faster down her neck. Len leaned towards her, close enough for his mouth to brush against hers.

"Get out."

He said it so softly, so quietly that Lily almost did not hear it. But she did, and at that, the mania burst from her in a fit of giggles, sparkled in her blue eyes and in the nearly mad twist of her mouth.

"_Len_. They're coming for you," she whispered hotly, earnestly, as the craziness danced in her eyes. "How long can you keep running, Len? It's been _years._ How long can you escape punishment _for what you've done?_"

The serrated blade vanished and reappeared to slash savagely across her face, splattering blood on the sheets and the adjacent wall, dripping into her long locks and over her soft body. Before she could shriek and clutch at her face, she found the blood-soaked blade caught between her teeth, muffling her cry. The sharp, bitter-tasting metal was wet with her own blood, scraping against her teeth. Her lips slipped and cut on the blade, and soon the copper-tasting fluid seeped into her mouth and poured down her throat. Lily coughed.

"I believe I said it once," Len said calmly, although now his temper was obviously lost and that strained veneer was shuttered over his core to rein it in. "Get out."

Carefully, she pried open her mouth and the blade withdrew. Raising her hand, magic blossomed, a cool yellow light, and she pressed it to her face. Instantly, the ugly red slash across her face sealed itself, leaving only dried blood on her fair skin and the liquid trickling past her lips. Len leaned back against his chair and cleaned his blade coolly, but his muscles were stiff and his eyes were sharp and hawkish. There was no remorse in his eyes over the injury inflicted, only a cold lack of mercy. Besides, she was from the Sisterhood of Flowers, and their members know little pain and great healing.

Lily shifted and set her naked feet on the ground. Although now the mania in her eyes was tempered with anger and contempt, she still grinned her wide, mad grin. Danger. It soaked in her blood and she lapped it up like ambrosia. Len scoffed inwardly. An adrenaline junkie.

"I believe you sparing my life means you'll think about it," Lily said coyly, her voice an almost purr. Standing up fully naked in his cramped bedroom, the moonlight showed her flawless body in its full glory. A part of him wished she could stay for a repeat of those few nights years ago. She may have pissed him off, but that did not mean he could not enjoy a little show.

To his chagrin, she seemed to know this, because she leaned towards him and gave him a nice view, before snatching up her tossed dress off the floor and slipping into it. Len ignored it, but his temper still glittered dangerously in his eyes and the threat of the blade in his hands.

"Don't disturb Miriam or Piko," he snapped at her retreating back. In response, she laughed a little and vanished.

Finally, alone. Len got up from his chair. The crisp night air breezed over him and settled the heat from the earlier encounter. The temperature cooled as he let night well over him, the moonlight streaming in. Walking slowly to his bedside drawers, he ignored the smear of blood and the tiny red splatters on the torn wallpaper. Opening the second drawer, he popped open a hidden compartment, slumping tiredly against the wall and sliding to the floor.

There, twined between his fingers fluttered an old, old white ribbon, tattered and stained. It looked like something off a child's white dress― or perhaps a white bow for a child's hair?

He could still remember her pained cries.

_How long can you escape punishment for what you've done?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** **Here's the vote results, and the vote is STILL OPEN!**

**Len X Miku:** 4

**Len X Rin:** 3

**Kaito X Miku:** 3

**WOW. Lenku is currently the hottest right now, huh? I was kinda expecting a Lenrin. Also, my bio now has a section for statuses of stories… if people are like 'what are you doing Mockingtale?' Ah-hah. *falls***

**Alright! So what do you think of Lily? She may come across as slutty but I'm trying to make her really bold, provocative and a teeny tiny cray cray. Her design just strikes me as that. Tell me what you think in the comments, and if you have suggestions on how I can improve, or even suggestions on how this story progresses, feel free to tell me! :)**


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